over the other.
Peter’s eyes immediately dropped to the smooth line of calf and thigh on display when her dress, the tease, fell away. Jo willed herself not to fidget or shift. She wasn’t some innocent girl unused to men’s attention. She didn’t typically seek it, but it never made her nervous. Men had been eyeing her body since she was fifteen years old. She barely noticed it anymore.
“Two things.” Peter held up his middle and index fingers, a smile teasing the line of his lips above his neatly trimmed, dark blond goatee. “One, Camille and Josiah are coming to visit, probably early next year. I just got off the phone with her assistant.”
“That’s great.”
Jo’s mouth took over her mood and smiled before she realized it. Camille Jameson, widow of the man murdered right in front of Walsh when he’d been kidnapped in Haiti, was a remarkable woman. Not only was Camille raising her son Josiah alone, but she also didn’t hesitate when Jo approached her about assuming a significant role in the foundation’s latest venture.
“She was the perfect choice to head up our private adoption efforts in Haiti.” Peter picked up a photo of the twins, grinning before setting it back down on the desk.
“Her visit could be perfect timing. Cam Mitchell has decided to hold his first art exhibit at Walsh House.” Jo studied her nude-colored manicure. “Considering how much attention he’s gained lately, might be some good publicity for our private adoption launch if we link the two. Maybe have Camille say a few words while all the cameras are there, if her visit coincides.”
“That’s a great idea.” Peter picked up the photo Jo had turned flat. “This is him, right? Cam?”
Jo didn’t even glance at the photo but kept her eyes on Peter’s handsome face and nodded.
“I’d heard he was close to your family, but to have his first exhibit here? Quite the coup.”
“He’s not just close to my family. He is family. I can’t think of a better place to introduce the private adoption launch than at his exhibit. Aunt Kris would be bursting with pride.”
“I’m not much of a tabloid guy, but I think I just saw him on the cover of one.”
“Really?” Jo measured out just enough casual and poured it all over her tone. “Interesting.”
“Yeah, apparently he’s seeing some French hotel heiress. Effie, Ellie, or—”
“Etty. Etinette Chevalier.” Jo uncrossed her legs and sandwiched her hands between her thighs and the leather seat. Sitting on her hands so she wouldn’t curl them into claws at the thought of Cam with that…girl. That spoiled, pink-haired…celebre-heiress…
“So you’ve heard the rumors?” Peter leaned forward a conspiratorial inch. “I heard she tattoos her lovers’ names on her body.”
“Aren’t you the gossipy busybody?” Jo teased Peter with her eyes for a moment before adding a smile. “I actually met her in New York. Cam was staying in her personal suite at the Chevalier.”
Peter whistled, low and suggestive.
“Guess the rumors are true.”
“I can’t confirm or deny anything because I don’t know—or much care, for that matter.”
Liar!
Jo fluffed the teal-patterned skirt of her Tracy Reese dress. “You said two things.”
“Huh?”
“You said you needed to discuss two things.” Jo perched an elbow on the back of her seat and slipped her feet out of the slingbacks she’d worn an hour beyond comfortable.
“Oh yes. The second thing.” Peter extended an arm, laying his hand flat on the desk for support. His blue eyes brightened even though his expression didn’t change. “I have tickets for the ballet tonight.”
“Score.” Jo reached down to massage the chafed spot just above her heel. “I didn’t know you liked ballet.”
“I don’t, but I heard you do.”
And there it was. The closest Peter had ever come to articulating the heat in his eyes when he watched her. The way he always conveniently ended up seated beside her in
Peter’s eyes immediately dropped to the smooth line of calf and thigh on display when her dress, the tease, fell away. Jo willed herself not to fidget or shift. She wasn’t some innocent girl unused to men’s attention. She didn’t typically seek it, but it never made her nervous. Men had been eyeing her body since she was fifteen years old. She barely noticed it anymore.
“Two things.” Peter held up his middle and index fingers, a smile teasing the line of his lips above his neatly trimmed, dark blond goatee. “One, Camille and Josiah are coming to visit, probably early next year. I just got off the phone with her assistant.”
“That’s great.”
Jo’s mouth took over her mood and smiled before she realized it. Camille Jameson, widow of the man murdered right in front of Walsh when he’d been kidnapped in Haiti, was a remarkable woman. Not only was Camille raising her son Josiah alone, but she also didn’t hesitate when Jo approached her about assuming a significant role in the foundation’s latest venture.
“She was the perfect choice to head up our private adoption efforts in Haiti.” Peter picked up a photo of the twins, grinning before setting it back down on the desk.
“Her visit could be perfect timing. Cam Mitchell has decided to hold his first art exhibit at Walsh House.” Jo studied her nude-colored manicure. “Considering how much attention he’s gained lately, might be some good publicity for our private adoption launch if we link the two. Maybe have Camille say a few words while all the cameras are there, if her visit coincides.”
“That’s a great idea.” Peter picked up the photo Jo had turned flat. “This is him, right? Cam?”
Jo didn’t even glance at the photo but kept her eyes on Peter’s handsome face and nodded.
“I’d heard he was close to your family, but to have his first exhibit here? Quite the coup.”
“He’s not just close to my family. He is family. I can’t think of a better place to introduce the private adoption launch than at his exhibit. Aunt Kris would be bursting with pride.”
“I’m not much of a tabloid guy, but I think I just saw him on the cover of one.”
“Really?” Jo measured out just enough casual and poured it all over her tone. “Interesting.”
“Yeah, apparently he’s seeing some French hotel heiress. Effie, Ellie, or—”
“Etty. Etinette Chevalier.” Jo uncrossed her legs and sandwiched her hands between her thighs and the leather seat. Sitting on her hands so she wouldn’t curl them into claws at the thought of Cam with that…girl. That spoiled, pink-haired…celebre-heiress…
“So you’ve heard the rumors?” Peter leaned forward a conspiratorial inch. “I heard she tattoos her lovers’ names on her body.”
“Aren’t you the gossipy busybody?” Jo teased Peter with her eyes for a moment before adding a smile. “I actually met her in New York. Cam was staying in her personal suite at the Chevalier.”
Peter whistled, low and suggestive.
“Guess the rumors are true.”
“I can’t confirm or deny anything because I don’t know—or much care, for that matter.”
Liar!
Jo fluffed the teal-patterned skirt of her Tracy Reese dress. “You said two things.”
“Huh?”
“You said you needed to discuss two things.” Jo perched an elbow on the back of her seat and slipped her feet out of the slingbacks she’d worn an hour beyond comfortable.
“Oh yes. The second thing.” Peter extended an arm, laying his hand flat on the desk for support. His blue eyes brightened even though his expression didn’t change. “I have tickets for the ballet tonight.”
“Score.” Jo reached down to massage the chafed spot just above her heel. “I didn’t know you liked ballet.”
“I don’t, but I heard you do.”
And there it was. The closest Peter had ever come to articulating the heat in his eyes when he watched her. The way he always conveniently ended up seated beside her in
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